Jedi Master, Galactic Tyrant
by Estora
Summary: Whom the public wishes to destroy, they first hold up as a hero. Twenty years after the death of the most hated Chancellor in Republic modern history, Luke Skywalker – Jedi Knight and scholar – pieces together the truth. AU from AotC.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas (and Disney). No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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I posted the original version of _Jedi Master, Galactic Tyrant_ on this account a couple of years ago. I took it down several months ago for a revamp. This story won't be updated regularly (sorry!) but I do hope to get up the rest of it one day. It's going to be considerably different from the original version I put up. I hope you enjoy the prologue!

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**JEDI MASTER, GALACTIC TYRANT**

Prologue

**Jedi Master, Galactic Tyrant**  
_The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi_

By Luke Skywalker

Published in Coruscant by TriPlanetary Press Publishers in 30 ANR.

Copyright © Skywalker, L.  
All rights reserved. Used under authorisation.

Luke Skywalker has asserted his right under the Intergalactic New Republic Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 17 ANR to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of production or datapad than that in which it is produced and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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In loving memory of Anakin Skywalker  
(25 BNR – 29 ANR)

and in honour of a fallen hero  
(41 BNR – 8 ANR)

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Preface

_What is history? A broad question for sure, and one that has been answered in every conceivable shape and form since it was first queried. I could tell you that history is everything that has ever occurred. I could even tell you history is about the 'important stuff', but these both create a multitude of exceptions and arguments. The question 'What is history' is a one that has no correct answer, because like everything, truth is often relative. With that in mind, there is only one answer I can give which is generally intergalactically accepted as a close 'true' definition: history is written by the winners._

_It doesn't exactly answer what history is, but it does give us a clue about the kind of history we know about and how we have formed our interpretations of it. From the Mandalorian Wars and Jedi Civil War nearly four thousand years ago to the Clone Wars of not even forty years ago, the impact of these and our knowledge of them today are based on accounts written by the winners; accounts which can be laced with propaganda, bias, and exaggeration. In history, the losers aren't given a voice – when they are, their words are taken out of context and warped to cast them in a worse light, because no-one wants to sympathise with the losers. Who wants to take the side of the Old Mandalorians? Who wants to sympathise with Darth Revan?_

_Who wants to defend Obi-Wan Kenobi?_

_What do you think of when you hear the name Obi-Wan Kenobi? Jedi Master and hero, perhaps, if you lived through the Clone Wars. But in the years that followed, what did that turn into? He became more than a king and Senator to his homeplanet and a saviour to the Republic. He became an idol. The man who helped save the galaxy, and then held it in his vice grip for a decade afterwards. A tyrant._

_But who was Obi-Wan Kenobi, really? Who was the man behind the Jedi and king, behind the peacekeeper and the warrior? Behind the diplomat and politician? Who was the boy who grew into the man? Who were the family who brought the boy into the galaxy? What was his homeplanet, that features so heavily in his rise and downfall? All of this and more is relevant to understanding fourteen years of modern galactic history and the man in the middle of it._

_This is the story of a Jedi Master who had to make a crushing choice between two duties. The story of a reluctant king who tried to heal his war-torn planet. Of a Senator who took a moral stand against the Clone Wars and inspired thousands of other systems to follow him. This is the story of Chancellor who, in trying to create a galaxy of peace fell down the path hundreds before him paved. This is our history; a story of wonder and tragedy. This is the story of a fall of a hero._

_This is the untold story of Obi-Wan Kenobi._

"Whom the public wishes to destroy, they first hold up as a hero."

_– Luke Skywalker; Jedi Knight, and Professor of Modern Galactic History of the University of Coruscant (30 ANR)._


	2. The Beginning of the End (8 ANR)

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas (and Disney). No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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So this story is going to be told out of order, and not all of the chapters will be excerpts from Luke's book. I'll be jumping back and forth between the years of Luke's research/his social context, and the chapter excerpts of his book. Some of the chapters will be narrative, others will be interview transcripts. So if you're expecting a linear story, this won't be for you! Just letting you guys know. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue!

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**JEDI MASTER, GALACTIC TYRANT**

Chapter One

**Jedi Master, Galactic Tyrant**  
_The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi_

By Luke Skywalker

The Beginning of the End

Ferus Olin had no reason to feel apprehensive. But he did.

As he entered the Senate building on the morning of the second Primeday of Month 7, 8 ANR, he scanned the corridors. Everything _looked _all right. There were no faces he didn't recognise, no potted plants where they shouldn't have been. Only a few politicians arriving for work, the uniformed guards stationed at every hundred metres down the corridors. After seven years, Ferus Olin knew their habits as well as his own.

Since he saw nothing out of the ordinary, the feeling ought to have gone away, but it didn't. Something felt wrong.

Ferus Olin had once been a potential Jedi. His connection to the Force, by this stage, was fleeting at best, having not been actively used for many years, but when his perception of the world warned him of something he made certain to listen. He wondered if there had been any recent threats against the Chancellor.

You could take the man out of the Jedi Order, but you could not take the Jedi out of the man.

Despite what some or most people believed, Ferus had never been Obi-Wan Kenobi's bodyguard. A reporter from the _Coruscant Daily_ had written that years earlier and others had picked it up and ran with it, never bothering to check for the truth. "It must be exciting, Mr Olin, being his bodyguard!" people would say. At first he'd corrected them, explaining that he was the Chancellor's chief security agent and co-administrator – and quite proud of it, too – but since they never seemed to believe him, thinking this was something he'd been instructed to say, he finally stopped telling them otherwise.

Ferus Olin was not very fond of the press.

The truth was, he was a bodyguard of sorts, but not the kind people believed him to be. He was a bodyguard against security breaches, and on occasion – more due to circumstance and coincidence than official status – helped the Chancellor survive and avoid assassination attempts. Oh, he knew how to handle a weapon, of course – he had been one of the Jedi's most promising students before he left, and quickly picked up the use of a traditional Stewjonian long sword in addition to a myriad of somewhat illegal blasters. He owned one of these blades, but rarely carried it with him – that was a job for the guards.

Olin was punctual, which meant early. Making his way through the corridors, deep into the heart of the building towards the private Chancellor's office beneath the Senatorial chamber – shadowed by two of his own personal guards – he checked his wrist chrono. It was exactly 6:15 am. He'd arrive in time to give his counterpart and partner in administration, Nora Jade, an early end to her long night shift.

She greeted him, as usual, with a curt 'good morning' and a sharp nod before recounting the events of the night. Piles of forms for Kenobi to sign, an issue with the computers, the daily list of administrative tasks, Kenobi's schedule of meetings, people to call back…

"The Chancellor would like to see you."

Olin was surprised. "He's here? It's not even 6:30."

"He's been here all night."

Kenobi had been known to go days without sleeping, as had Nora Jade.

Jade had worked for Kenobi since 5 BNR, five years before he even became the Supreme Chancellor of the New Republic. She was young for such a high administrative position – thirty-seven standard years old – but she was shrewd and ran the entire office, overseeing every phase of its operations.

"She was a one-woman administrative army," Olin described of her twenty years later, rolling a cigarette – the only luxury allowed to him in his solitary cell – between his fingers. "My addition to her one-person army did not lighten her load – more people only meant more work could be handled."

Her genteel and charming manners and pleasant voice complemented the Chancellor's powerful presence. She was beautiful in her time – a truly disarming woman. Yet behind the politeness was a resolute firmness not unlike his, and no small amount of influence. Just how many, it was wondered later, in the Senate had been quietly manipulated by her?

They were something of an unofficial triumvirate. Kenobi, Jade, and Olin – but the relationship between the Chancellor and Ms Jade was rigidly formal. Kenobi always called her Jade, and never once in her thirteen years by his side did he publicly call her 'Nora'. The relationship between Kenobi and Olin was decidedly less formal; it was known that the Chancellor sometimes called Olin 'Ferus', and sometimes Olin would respond with 'Obi-Wan' instead of 'sir' or 'Chancellor'. If a romantic relationship existed between any of the three of them, people suspected it was more likely to be Kenobi and Olin or Kenobi and Jade (the rumours of a pregnancy several years prior were never verified), rather than Jade and Olin (the secretaries often worked opposite shifts, sometimes only seeing each other for a few minutes every twelve hours).

Jade left shortly after that. She resided in 500 Republica, an apartment beside Kenobi's where she could keep watch over him even in his private life. Olin did not go in straight away, instead waiting for his shadows to become Jade's shadows, even though he doubted she'd need them. Once out of sight, he held all calls to the Chancellor's office, knocked on the door, and entered.

The Chancellor's office beneath the Senate chamber was not one many people went to. "I preferred the public one," he said in the interview. "The public office, the one with the window overlooking Coruscant. The view in the mornings was nothing short of spectacular."

Had they been there instead of the underground lair, they'd have witnessed the sun rising over the heart of Kenobi's Republic.

Kenobi would usually smile when greeting Olin – perhaps a habit learned from their acquaintance in the Jedi Order years earlier. This morning, however, Kenobi did not smile. This, if nothing else, ought to have tipped Olin off. He instead gestured silently for Olin to come over, and remained silent for a few minutes, thinking. The only sounds in the office were their steady breathing and the low murmuring buzz of recorded voices.

It was never a good sign when the Chancellor of the New Republic fell silent to something.

"The Jedi," Kenobi finally said to him, brow furrowed deeply, "are moving against me."

Too many years had passed between Olin and the Order for him to feel anything overtly significant. Perhaps once Olin might have felt the pain of bittersweet memories and lost hopes stab him – out of longing for what he once could have been, or out of betrayal for the man he dedicated his life to working for. Now, all he felt was a vague regret that it had come to this.

The hidden cameras in the Jedi Council Chambers had done their jobs well. On Kenobi's desk, a small holorecording of the Council in session played, voices trickling through slight static.

_"…may have to force him to stand down…"_

Eleven figures seated in chairs, one figure agitatedly pacing the chamber. Master Mace Windu was the one who'd spoken, voice grave.

"If they send a team, it will be treason," Kenobi said, and this was true. Any action taken by any citizen of the Republic to forcibly remove the Supreme Chancellor of the New Republic would be seen as nothing more than traitors and terrorists. In 8 ANR, the security laws had tightened; the only lawful way for a Chancellor to be removed was through a Vote of No Confidence, the famous act that removed the late Finis Valorum from the Chancellor's chair decades before, or the Chancellor's term expiring. The Vote of No Confidence was always a legal possibility – it was only a question of who would (or could) call for it.

In the days of the old Republic, a Chancellor's term lasted four years. It was possible for a Chancellor to sit in office for only two consecutive terms, although Chancellor Éamon Palpatine – eventually exposed as Darth Sidious – overstayed his second term during the Clone Wars. In 7 ANR, Kenobi passed an Act that would allow a Chancellor to sit in office for three consecutive terms, and promptly won the next election. His term would not expire until 12 ANR.

If the Jedi committed treason, there would be little Kenobi could do for them. In 2 ANR, the Jedi were granted a seat in the Senate to give it protection from (and equality with) the other chairs, establishing the Order as answerable to the Republic – or rather, its leader. Kenobi had two choices, given the information he held. He could do nothing, let the Jedi attempt treason and sit back as the law destroyed the Order, or he could pre-emptively strike, place them under house arrest, and maintain stability.

Olin suspected Kenobi still thought fondly of the Order, but he showed no hint that he felt angry at this betrayal. There were moments, Olin recalled, when Kenobi would sometimes fall silent and detach from his existence of politics and meetings, as if lost in a world of memories and regrets. Hence the cause for Kenobi's dilemma: if the Jedi committed treason, Kenobi would be forced to dismantle the entire Order and execute the conspirers and leaders of this coup.

Skywalker – pacing in the holorecording and fighting a losing battle with the revered Master Yoda – would be one of those executed.

"What are you going to do?" Olin asked, and Kenobi's jaw set tightly. He reached over, turned the holorecording off, and gave orders to Olin that were to mark the first of the five darkest days in modern history.

Ferus Olin now had a reason to be feeling apprehensive.


	3. Coruscant, 27 ANR

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas (and Disney). No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

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Like I said, this is being told very much out of order and in a range of styles. Hopefully it won't get too confusing! I'll be putting the dates in each chapter to make it as easy to follow as I can.

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**JEDI MASTER, GALACTIC TYRANT**

Chapter Two

_Coruscant, 27 ANR_

"…and eventually, after losing more than fifty percent of droid forces, Grievous had what remained of them raze an entire city to divert Republic troops in order to make his escape. This ended the CIS occupation of the planet, returning it to the Republic, and the Battle of Ord Mantell therefore became an official Republic victory."

Except for a few murmuring students seated up the back of the lecture theatre and the tapping of hundreds of datapads, the only sound in the chamber was the steady _thump, thump_ of Luke's boots as he paced back and forth across the podium. The last class of the day was always the least inspired; students were tired and bored by sundown, and Luke himself was growing weary of the same lesson repeated hour after hour.

Still, he persevered.

"_However_ – one must consider if it really was that. Remember, the CIS army used droids, not sentient beings. The Republic made use of humans, clones, sentient beings – the clones were manufactured, yes, but sentient nonetheless. Beings capable of intelligent thought, emotion, and capable of dying. The death toll for both the Republic and Ord Mantell during that battle vastly outweighed the death tolls of three main battles being fought concurrently in other systems, and yet the Republic called it a _victory_, simply because they managed to _tactically_ defeat the CIS droid army after weeks of war."

_Thump, thump, thump_. Luke adjusted the microphone attached to his shirt, wincing when it let out a wail of frequency. Most of his students groaned and clapped their hands over their ears – others laughed. "Sorry," he murmured, and the chatter died down again. "Um. So, Count Dooku and General Grievous didn't refer to Ord Mantell as a defeat. They called Ord Mantell a tactical retreat, because Grievous razed an entire city of defenceless citizens to the ground to divert attention during his escape – he wasn't captured or killed. The CIS failed to seize control of the planet, but if you compare the death tolls, the Republic suffered a far greater loss in terms of sentient life than the Separatists. Grievous lost valuable weaponry and bases, and a lot of his droid army, but when you think about it… it's far easier, quicker, and cheaper to replenish droids than Clones, and the destruction of a droid isn't actually counted as a casualty. Certainly not in comparison to the millions of Ord Mantells who perished in Grievous' attack."

He paused to let the students copy down what he said onto their datapads – not that he believed for a moment more than, say, ten of them were actually doing the work. There was a new game going around on the datapads, and even with the volumes turned off he could see the sharp hand movements of the students as they flew their ships through impossible trenches. Luke leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms, and after a minute, when most of the students were looking back up at him, he peered around at them.

"Ord Mantell might have been an official victory for the Republic, but looking back on it now – what do you think? Was it really a victory? If not, what benefit would the then-Chancellor Palpatine have in calling it a victory?" He glanced around the chamber, spotting a few hands in the air. He focused on a young Twi'lek girl sitting near the front and flustered around for her name. "Yes, uh – Tavianne?"

He must have gotten it right, because she didn't correct him. She put her hand down. "I think that Ord Mantell was a superficial victory," she said, "and because of that it was enough to be called an official victory for propaganda purposes. Palpatine knew that no-one outside of Ord Mantell and Jedi General Ki-Adi Mundi who fought there would know exactly what happened or what the casualty toll was – so by calling Ord Mantell a victory, Palpatine was ensuring loyalty from the Republic and raising morale, thereby prolonging the war."

So someone did the homework, at least. Luke smiled encouragingly. "Very good," he said, just as the bell rang. The students started gathering their belongings all at the same time in a frenzy, filling the room with loud rattling and scraping chairs. "Before you go," he called over the excited chatter, "please hand in your homework essays that were set last week! Anyone who doesn't hand it in today will have marks taken off for each day it's late."

A smattering of groans filled the room, but there was still a scurry of students around his desk and the clattering of perhaps half the amount of datapads he had hoped for on his desk.

"And your homework for this week is to find a speech given by an influential figure during the Clone Wars and analyse it. I'll be calling on a few of you to share it during the session."

More groaning. Luke hid a smile as he turned away to save the notes he made during this class on the holoprojector.

"Please look at the readings for next class – we'll be analysing the Battle of Christophsis next. And don't forget to continue researching your thesis topic! I want them all ready by next week so you can start working on them as soon as possible. Remember, you don't have to limit yourselves to the Clone Wars or the Formation of the New Republic – you can look as far back as the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War if you wish."

There was a chorus of "Thanks, Professor!" and "See you next week, Knight Skywalker!" as his students made a dash for the door, and then he was left in silence. Luke started collecting the datapads off his desk and piling them into his bag, eyes scanning the titles each one had.

_Perseverance_, he thought. Endurance, patience, open-mindedness, compassion. So on and so forth. He had to remind himself sometimes why he loved teaching – why being a Jedi Knight wasn't _enough_. The days were long and the lessons, when his students were uncooperative, felt stagnated and boring. Today was one of those days.

Most at the Temple thought he was mad, of course – his father being the first one in line to say so. Sitting down behind his desk, Luke rubbed his eyes wearily and stifled a yawn, and wondered – not for the first time – if his Jedi critics were right. Luke Skywalker loved history, when he remembered what inspired him about it. It wasn't just the stories, or an interest in the past. It was the _people_ he fell in love with – the way they impacted and influenced events. The heroes of wars and politics.

The villains.

It was easy to forget that when following a university syllabus and teaching a group of disinterested young adults.

So he looked down into his bag and pulled out the rough outline and first few pages of his novel manuscript, eyes scanning the couple of hundred words he'd slapped together in the last week.

"I'm insane," he said, and started to pack up.

* * *

There was never a shortage of food at the Jedi Temple, nor at the university, but Luke had a preference for a small Deralian grocery store in the mid-levels of Coruscant that was a good hour away from either institutions. It seemed a silly thing for him to do – he had droids that were capable of going to the markets on his behalf, and he was always welcome to drop in on his parents in 500 Republica and raid their kitchen – but Luke enjoyed the semblance of freedom to come out here and mingle with people who didn't know who he was.

He did not enjoy the necessity of taking his lightsaber, but he was wearing a poncho over his clothes that covered the weapon, so he tried not to let it bother him.

Luke had a thing for aged Deralian cheese. Leia hated it – said it smelled like Han's feet when he didn't take off his boots for an entire day – but Luke disagreed and indulged in this small delicacy when the fancy struck him. But because he was a grown man (apparently) and he lived in his own apartment (sometimes) and had two jobs (when he wasn't pod racing in the lower levels), he thought perhaps he should be responsible and actually have things in his fridge besides the cheese – like bread and blue milk and fruit. Mostly because Padmé would scold him if he didn't have some fresh fruits and vegetables around the residence.

Because the store was small, there was only one checkout and a very long line. Luke was at the end of it, and took the moment to look around the humans and aliens milling around him. A young woman up the front of the line was practically glowing, her heart pounding and radiating sheer happiness. She was pregnant – just found out – and Luke smiled. Further down the line an elderly man was bouncing on his heels, a music pod in his ears.

Towards the store exit, a CFS officer who'd had a little too much to drink the previous night was on the prowl.

Normally Luke didn't have to worry – as long as they minded their own business and kept on scowling at the general population and only intervened when a crime was being committed, there was no reason to be on edge. But this one was different; the thick-haired, burly officer grabbed a passing civilian's collar and shoved him backwards.

"Hey!" he snapped. "You!"

The civilian was much smaller than the officer; a meek-looking man with a bag of groceries in his arms. He dropped the bag immediately and some pears rolled out onto the ground, and he stepped backwards, holding his hands up defensively. "M-me?"

"Yeah, you," the thick-haired CFS officer growled. "I heard your accent. You're one of _them_, ain't you?"

The smaller man stepped backwards again and ended up trapped against the wall. "I don't know what you mean," he said.

"He's faking his voice!" cried an older woman from the queue. "I heard him talk as well before – he's _Stewjonian_!"

The CFS officer shoved the civilian hard in the chest. "I thought we got rid of you fuckers twenty years ago."

"N-no, I'm not – please, I'll – I'll go –"

"Go? You people don't _go_. Why don't you stay here a bit and colonise the store, since you can't seem to go back to where you came from!"

Luke put his basket on the ground and pushed through the crowd, making his way over to the trouble. Just as he reached them, the CFS officer shoved the Stewjonian man to the ground and was reaching for his stun blaster. Luke deftly stepped in front of him.

"Enough."

"Mind your own business, civilian," the officer – Greysson, according to his badge – snapped, moving to shove Luke out of the way.

Luke discreetly pushed his poncho aside, revealing his lightsaber to the Officer Greysson.

Immediately Greysson backed off. His back straightened, the aggression in his stance drained away, and he cleared his throat. "Master Jedi," he said. "I was just dealing with this –"

"I saw what you were doing," Luke interrupted coldly. "Move along, now."

"But –"

"Move along," he said with a wave of his fingers. The gentle suggestion nudged at CFS Officer Greysson's mind, and the man nodded and saluted.

"Yes, Master Jedi."

Luke hinted at perhaps patrolling a lower level and being on the look out for actual crimes, and the officer left the store, mind prodded with a renewed interest in actually doing his job instead of bullying. Luke waited until Officer Greysson was gone before turning and kneeling beside the cowering Stewjonian man.

"Here," Luke said, helping the man to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," he whispered. "Thank you."

Luke sighed and grasped the man's shoulder. "If you want to stay on Coruscant, you have to watch your accent better. It's not fair, I know, but until the day comes that you won't be in danger from people like him… you just be careful. All right?"

The Stewjonian man nodded. "All right. Thank you, Master Jedi."

"And maybe consider going to a different grocery store?"

The man ducked his head, still grateful, and started to pick up his fallen fruit. Most of it was bruised from when he'd dropped it, but Luke could tell the man wasn't willing to go back to the line and ask for a refund, not now that the store knew he was Stewjonian. Luke helped him get his groceries back together, then he grasped Luke's hand a final time before slipping away.

Luke could feel the eyes of the entire store on him. He didn't look back around at any of them and left the store as well, without his cheese.

* * *

He didn't go to his apartment, and he didn't go to the Jedi Temple either. He went to 500 Republica instead, deciding to obey traffic laws for once and not cut through the lines or exceed the speed limit. It wasn't as though he'd get charged for either minor crime – he had a Jedi identification tab on his speeder, which meant he was exempt from those particular laws, but Luke was in no rush and enjoyed the time just sitting in traffic. Despite the constant hum of engines around him and the frequent blaring of horns and sirens, it was relaxing to just sit in his enclosed speeder and mull over his thoughts.

Nineteen years, he considered. He was ten when it happened, and he'd be thirty soon. Logically he knew twenty years wasn't a long time, not to the annals of history or time. If anything, it was like the blink of an eye to a scholar – a mere few seconds in the grand scheme of things. But it felt like an entire lifetime ago, and the bits and pieces of Kenobi's Republic were just that: bits and pieces.

Ten wasn't old enough to truly understand, he realised. But the bits and pieces didn't match up with what he _did_ know.

Nineteen years, and Anakin Skywalker still refused to say a word about any of it.

Luke didn't reach his parents' apartment until well after dinnertime. He parked his speeder on the landing pad, locked his bag and manuscript in the vehicle, and made his way into one of his childhood homes. There was an air of comfort here; the sense of _family_, in a way that was separate from his home at the Temple. He associated the Temple with learning and guidance, the serenity that came from the Light Side of the Force. 500 Republica was dinner and soft beds and kisses on his forehead from his parents when he was young, and Leia's fist colliding with his shoulder instead of her lightsaber smashing against his in melee classes.

Padmé was donned in a Senatorial gown when he arrived. Senate sessions were inconsistent these days, being called whenever someone had a fancy for it, and Padmé always went no matter what the time was. His mother had aged well, he thought; still beautiful, hair showing only streaks of grey, and still holding herself straight and determined. She was ordering C-3PO to put on the tea for Anakin, and Luke waited until the droid waddled off to speak.

"Hey, Mum," he said, and she turned around in surprise.

"Luke, sweetheart, I wasn't expecting you!" she exclaimed, swooping over towards him for a hug.

"I know, sorry I didn't call –"

Padmé ushered him into the kitchen. "Have you eaten? You look famished. I'll get C-3PO to serve up some dinner for you."

"It's really fine, I was just hoping to –"

"And when you see Leia next will you _please_ tell her to come and visit? I see Han more often than I see her!"

"Don't you both work in the Senate –?"

"I'm about to rush off, actually, but your father is in the bathroom – tell him to drink some tea and take his pain medication when he comes out."

"Okay, but –"

"I love you, Luke!" Padmé kissed his cheek and swept off.

"I – goodbye?" he called out, and the door closed behind her. "Okay."

Luke waited at the table until the C-3PO returned with a tray of tea and pills, wondering if he should even _be_ here. It seemed a bit sudden to spring it on his father, but the incident in the Deralian grocery store had shaken him and… Luke shook his head to himself.

"Padmé?" Anakin's voice hollered from corridor, coming out of the 'fresher. "Padmé! Where did you put my glasses?"

Luke cast a glance around the kitchen, but didn't see them.

"_Padmé!_" Anakin limped into the kitchen and caught sight of Luke. "Oh. You're not Padmé."

"That's disappointing," Luke said, "I think I'd look good in a dress."

Anakin laughed and limped over. Luke stood up to receive his father's hug. "Well, hello, Knight Skywalker. Haven't seen you around for a while."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Luke said, pulling out a chair for Anakin. "Things have been busy, you know?"

"I figured."

"Good to see you, Dad."

"You too, son."

The years hadn't been kind to Anakin Skywalker. Luke remember his father when he was younger; a good-looking soldier, sun-tanned skin, a steely sort of determination but a free laugh and warm eyes. These days Anakin was a lot more pale, his eyes tired and his soldier's stance weakened. He refused to walk with a stick around the house, which Padmé disapproved of but Anakin insisted on doing anyway, because he was Anakin Skywalker and Anakin Skywalker did as he pleased these days. Including intentionally skipping Jedi Council sessions.

"Um," Luke said, "I'm actually here because I was… well, I was…"

"Spit it out," Anakin grunted, fiddling with his mechanical arm.

Luke exhaled. "I was wondering if we'd be able to… to talk."

"Sure, son. Just lemme –" Anakin cracked his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck and groaned, very obviously in pain. It was getting worse, Luke thought, but didn't say anything because he knew it would upset Anakin to know he'd noticed.

"Mum said for you to take your medication," he said instead, gesturing towards the tray.

"Oh, right. That stuff," Anakin grumbled, and reached for the capsules on the tray. He swallowed them dry and pulled a face, and Luke poured them both a cup of tea. "Hey, I can do that."

Luke noticed the stronger tremors in his father's hands. "Sure," he said, "if you want it to end up in your crotch again."

"What do I have to do to get some respect around here?" Anakin said, but Luke could tell he was joking and passed him the cup. "So," Anakin continued, "you said you wanted to talk?"

Luke hesitated again, fretful.

"Oh, Force, you haven't knocked someone up, have you? Because –"

"_No_, Dad."

"Good. Now hurry up and tell me what it's about, I don't like long awkward silences."

Luke steeled himself. "I'm thinking about writing a book."

"Oh yeah?" Anakin said, bringing his cup up to his lips. His hand shook and Luke was worried the tea was going to spill over the rim, but Anakin didn't seem to care or notice. "Well, it's one way to pass the time, I guess. What's it going to be about?"

"It's about Obi-Wan Kenobi," Luke said, and Anakin choked on his tea.


	4. Documents

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas (and Disney). No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review! I know I said I'd be updating this story slowly and when it took my fancy, but it turns out it has my fancy at the moment. So updates will probably slow down soon, but I'm enjoying getting this story back on a kick. Thanks again!

* * *

**JEDI MASTER, GALACTIC TYRANT**

Chapter Three

_Documents_

_An excerpt from a Societal Analysis Essay. Topic: Stewjon_  
_Author's name withheld. Circa 53 BNR._

For all intents and purposes, Stewjon and her people do not make sense. The Democratic Monarchy of Stewjon is a planet of contradictions. Politically and economically conservative, and yet socially liberal. A planet whose main exports are its rich agricultural produce, yet the backbone of society is the class system and the Grand Army. It calls itself a democracy, but the system ruled (inconsistently) for the last ten thousand years by the two oldest families: Androssi and Veran. United, and the backbone of the entire Stethos system, yet no stranger to the frequent bouts of civil war that mars its history. Blood and family is considered the most important aspect of their lives, yet ascension into the higher ranks in the Army (the "Great Equaliser") is based on talent only.

* * *

_An excerpt from _Bloodlines and Dynasties: The Role of Family and Succession on Stewjon_  
By Io-Vis Lucan. Circa 61 BNR._

The Androssi line has always been the ruling family. There are a collective four thousand years in Stewjon's history where the Androssi family was not in power, yet somehow they always come back. A distant cousin's line, or an illegitimate child, often no longer carrying the name, will adopt the traditional moniker. The same goes for the line of Veran, which controls the entire system's army – often usurped or killed, and yet a distant descendent of some vague relation always resume their bloodline. It is believed that most recent generation of Androssis and Verans are not even related to the original families at all; the names are titles now, indicative of tradition and dedication…

* * *

_An excerpt from the personal writings of Elena X'Avi, Professor of Societies and Cultures at the University of Deralia  
__Circa 9 BNR._

…if there could be one word I would use to describe Stewjonians, it would not be "contradictory" – it would be "obsessive".

Throughout their history, Stewjon's war generals and monarchs, its scientists and its artists, are known for pursuing their talents and roles to the logical extreme and then some. General Hypatia Veran, during the Mandalorian Wars, was said to be a little insane, and it showed in her military tactics: the too-daring strategies, the willingness to sacrifice lives for the 'greater good'. This extreme mindset manifested in her youngest child – a daughter – whose portrait was torn down from the royal galleries and burned after the Jedi Civil War.

These people are not warmongers or warriors, they are soldiers; and to be a soldier, you must be dedicated, strong-willed. You must be dead-set on your task, proud of your history and your planet, loyal. There is often no choice of a middle ground: it is one extreme or the other. By its nature, Stewjon does not forgive – and it does not forget.

_– Elena X'Avi lived on Stewjon for ten years due to a university exchange program with her homeplanet of Deralia._

* * *

___An excerpt from _A Brief Overview of the RSV Tragedy  
_By Owen Terran. Published in Stewjon__ by Dio-Med Publishers in 965 ARR (19 BNR)._

The Rogue Stewjon Virus was one of the most deadly diseases to cripple the planet since the galactic-wide spread of the Blue Shadow Virus. It was also one the Republic ensured would not make it out of the system. The virus was airborne, swift and fatal, and it tore mercilessly through the system. Patient Zero was eventually identified as Xa-Vir Cadmus, a respected scientist and geneticist whose passion was the manipulation of the genetic structure of diseases. Perhaps he was acting under orders – it was not unheard of for the powerful families on Stewjon to request poisons and diseases. Or perhaps, as is more likely, Dr Cadmus allowed his passion to get the better of him. The recovery of his personal journal (_Appendix 2, pp 289—296_) seems to indicate the latter.

King Dominic IV, Androssi, was forty-nine Galactic Standard Years old and had not yet reached his twentieth year of rule on Stewjon when the virus broke out in Year 942 After the Ruusan Reformation (_Year 42 Before the New Republic_). It was a tragic coincidence that the Senator of Stewjon, a respected member of the elected government, was on the planet at this time and quickly succumbed to the virus. Without a representative in the Senate, and the social structures crumbling around them, the government on their colony Helvetica – pleaded directly to the Republic for aid. This in itself was a large blow to Stethosian pride; for the first time in four hundred years, they were ill equipped to deal with an internal situation and were now reliant on the goodwill and fast action of the Republic.

They perhaps hoped that the Republic would send aid ships and scientists to discover a cure, since many Stewjonian celebrated scientists had perished from the virus themselves before making significant discoveries. The Republic did send aid ships – just two. The other ships that were sent were to blockade the planet, in a desperate attempt to stop the spread of the virus. Any fleeing Stewjonians who tried to make it past the blockade to escape the devastation were shot down. For a year this blockade lasted – not only did it restrict communications to Coruscant, it also destroyed trade.

Betrayed, and now with an economy that had plummeted further than any other point in Stewjonian history, the suffering and dying population revolted and overthrew King Dominic IV in what was very nearly a violent revolution. General Amyas Veran _[family tree available in Appendix 1, pp 104—106]_ managed to command his Army in time to regain control, but it was too late for the Androssi family – Dominic IV was killed, and his daughter Livia Androssi, only seventeen at the time, fled into hiding in the farming lands.

Amyas Veran, in a risky move, chose to maintain communications with the Republic and campaigned for better aid. The virus was showing signs of slowing down as more and more people discovered a method of vaccinating themselves (exposing themselves and young children to a dead form of the virus in order to produce the necessary antibodies to fight the virus), but the economy was still at its lowest and the army was now the only ruling structure on the planet.

During this time, a new General came into power: Amyas's son, Aloysius, who in Year 943 ARR _(41 BNR)_ took control of the army when Amyas himself fell victim to the virus, and kept the planet in order as he restored social structure and the internal economy. It was a long and arduous process, but under the strict regulations and the enforced military control, the virus could be contained to certain areas, allowing scientists to regroup and attempt to discover a cure with aid from sympathetic scientists from neighbouring systems. Despite this, RVS was still deadly and affected infants more than adults. Plans to rescue as many Force-sensitive children as possible from the ravaged planet, still bankrupt and starving despite Aloysius's efforts, were made between the Verans and the Jedi, bypassing the authority of the Republic all together. In the past, Force-sensitive children of Stewjon had been taken by the Order; this, the Jedi Order promised Aloysius Veran and the people of Stewjon, would be the same, just on a larger scale. In 946 ARR _(38 BNR)_, the Jedi took fifteen Force-sensitive children from the unaffected areas of Stewjon back to their Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

_– __This book is out of print, and only twenty remain in existence, most of which belong to the Royal Stewjonian Library. Edited for revision of dates._

* * *

_Records from the Jedi Archives  
__Status report of the Stewjonian Children, 946 ARR (38 BNR)._

Fifteen children were rescued from the Democratic Monarchy of Stewjon. All were retrieved from non-virus afflicted areas of the planet, and all taken with the consent and full understanding (when applicable) from their parent(s). It is believed that a member of the transport shuttle _Phoenix_, however, was an unknowing carrier of the virus.

Upon arrival at the Jedi Temple, all fifteen children were placed into quarantine. RSV is a known airborne disease; if one child had it, the others were likely to have it. Blood analyses show that all fifteen children had contracted the virus, and fourteen passed away within three weeks of arriving at the Temple. As of the fourth Zhellday of Month 9, 946 ARR, one child is still alive. It is unlikely he will survive the night.

**Aello, Chi-Ron **(Born 946 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Sa-Ra Aello  
Father: Knox Aello  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Cavalier, Jo-Anna** (Born 945 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Ellen Cavalier  
Father: Cato Cavalier  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Donatus, Illythia** (Born 945 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Fel-Icia Donatus  
Father: August Donatus  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Drusara, Cari-Na** (Born 946 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Teri-Ka Drusara  
Father: N/A  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Fortune, Alber-Ric** (Born 944 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Vila-Tai Fortune  
Father: Ron-Lo Fortune  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Kenobi, Obi-Wan (Born 943 ARR, Alive)**  
Mother: Livia Androssi  
Father: Jerec Kenobi  
Cause of death: N/A

**Maire, Ti-Lon** (Born 944 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Vi-Sani Maire  
Father: N/A  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Milon, Jason** (Born 945 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: N/A  
Father: Tercial Milon  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Nicon, Cy-Rah** (Born 946 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: N/A  
Father: Adri Nicon  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Rozella, Cori-San** (Born 945 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Dralia Rozella  
Father: Sol Rozella  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Servus, Ia-Tha** (Born 943 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Elai-Zha Servus  
Father: N/A  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Theroux, Poly-Xena** (Born 946 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Jana-Li Theroux  
Father: Etienne Theroux  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Theroux, Ur-Sus** (Born 946 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: Jana-Li Theroux  
Father: Etienne Theroux  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Viatrix, Ren-Ata** (Born 945 ARR, Deceased)  
Mother: N/A  
Father: N/A  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus

**Wilde, Hieronymus** (Born 945 ARR)  
Mother: Mira-La Wilde  
Father: Xan-Tono Wilde  
Cause of death: Rogue Stewjonian Virus


	5. Interview Transcript (27 ANR)

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas (and Disney). No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**JEDI MASTER, GALACTIC TYRANT**

Chapter Four

_Interview Transcript, 27 ANR_

_[recording begins]_

**Luke Skywalker:** Third Centaxday of Month 8, Year 27 After the New Republic. In session: Professor Luke Skywalker and Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker. The entirety of this conversation will be recorded, and the terms have been explained and understood by both parties.

**Anakin Skywalker:** Seems a bit excessive.

**Luke Skywalker:** I just want to cover all the bases. Are you sure you want to do this?

**Anakin Skywalker:** Not sure it has much to do with _want_, Luke. There's a reason I haven't spoken about it for nineteen years.

**LS:** Mum told me not to bother you about it when Leia and I were younger.

**AS:** Yeah, I remember. After Obi-Wan died, you both kept on asking me where Uncle Ben was, and – _[sigh]_ – Padmé made you stop. She never forgave him, you know. _[pause]_ Don't tell her about this, she'll be cross.

**LS:** Are _you_ cross?

**AS:** Me? No. His memory has been treated… horribly. By everyone. Maybe it's time I tried to fix some of that. _[pause]_ This book of yours that you want to write about him. Does it have a title yet?

**LS:** Only a working one. _Jedi Master, Galactic Tyrant_.

**AS:** …Well. It's accurate, I'll give you that. What have you got so far?

**LS:** Not much at all. Some dates, a vague outline… It's hard to find information. The Jedi Archives are sealed, so are the Senatorial records. You'd think that for someone who is so hated by everyone, people would know more about him – about _why_ he became what he did.

**AS:** It's hard for people who haven't been in that position to understand.

**LS:** I'd have thought you'd be more angry at him.

**AS:** Angry at him? Why?

**LS: **Dad, he – he _hurt_ you. Don't you – don't you hate him?

**AS:** _Hate_ him? What the – Force, no, Luke, I – I _loved_ Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was like my brother. I could _never_ hate him.

**LS:** But – you never talked about him. Nineteen years, you've never said _anything_ –

**AS:** Because while your mother never forgave him, I never forgave myself. Stars, Luke, I – I never meant to give you and Leia the impression I felt anything less than love for Obi-Wan. _Still_ feel. _[another sigh]_ I've been silent for too long.

**LS:** Dad…

**AS:** _[muffled]_ I'm fine. I'm fine. Just… give me a second.

_[long silence]_

**AS:** You want to know why Obi-Wan did what he did. Why and how he became… well, the Obi-Wan Kenobi people remember.

**LS:** Yes.

**AS:** Okay. I want you to hear the whole story. You only know the version told by the media and the Senate and the Order, and I've let it go on for too long. I mean, from a certain point of view… the story you know _is_ the truth, but… it's complicated. Very complicated. I know you don't remember much of him, and whatever memories you do have probably aren't the best point of reference. You were ten when he died.

**LS:** I don't remember him the way I hear people talk about him. He was always so… grandfatherly, or like an older uncle, whenever he visited. Understanding, willing to listen… I felt like I could talk to him about anything. He was kind. Warm.

**AS:** Yeah, well. I remember another Chancellor who made me feel the same way a decade or so before that. Obi-Wan was charming.

**LS:** You think he was manipulating me?

**AS:** I think he loved you as much as he loved me and that you were one of the few he could still be genuine with. I also think he had an agenda, and it was right of your mother to forbid contact.

**LS:** Dad, I don't –

**AS:** I know, I'm sorry. I sound like I'm contradicting myself. I promise I'm not. Obi-Wan Kenobi was the best man I ever knew and I did him wrong, and he did himself wrong. I hate what he did, but I don't hate him.

_[long silence]_

**AS:** I don't know where to start.

**LS:** Beginning is usually a good place.

**AS:** Smart arse. Go and make me some tea while I think about it.

_[recording ends]_


End file.
